Breaking Down the Beaten Path
by Noelani Alaula
Summary: Otherwise described as, “how Ryou Bakura and Seto Kaiba turned every bishounen and his hikari gay” or “the yaoist’s defense against anti-yaoists”. Which is: yaoists are not hentai - the cocky brainchild and the pretty bipole made it canon. RBxMI


****

Title: Beating Down the Beaten Path (1/3)

****

Author: Noelani Alaula

****

Summary: Otherwise described as, "how Ryou Bakura and Seto Kaiba turned every bishounen and his hikari gay" or "the yaoist's defense against anti-yaoists". Which is: yaoists are not hentai - the cocky brainchild and the pretty bipole *made* it canon.

****

Archived: FFN. If you want it, ask. I'll probably let you have it, unless you plan to call it yours. Then I'll probably tell you to screw off.

****

Pairings: Sane Bakura x Sane Malik (yes, he's sane - the dub just sucks), and the foundation of Kaiba x Jounouchi.

****

Disclaimer: Consider - Kazuki Takahashi: very rich. Me: very not (not that I'd share if I did, mind). Canon bishounen: very (presumably) straight. Noelani's bishounen: very happy. Conclusion - owns Yu-Gi-Oh: very no.

****

Author's Note: There are three parts to this. The first deals with Bakura (the sanely-haired one) and Malik, adorable bipole and sexy wacko. Next are Kaiba and Jounouchi, cocky brainchild and clueless koinu. Third are the results of their endeavors. Third part is where the summary becomes key. Now, that said:

On with this nonsense. ^_~

****

Beating Down the Beaten Path

Sept. 2, 2003 - Yesterday afternoon, a bulletin from Domino City High School arrived in every parent's mailbox. The contents detailed very little, only supplying the cryptic message that "unseemly and intolerable behavior" among the male division of the school is poisoning the character of the highly regarded institution. In addition, it alerted parents to monitor their sons' activities after school and, suspiciously, any changes in their "preferred company".

When asked, several students had only shrugs and bemused stares to offer. However, Makitstop Mary Sue, 16, a transfer student from America, had this to say concerning her school, "It's a total _mess_. What in the name of romance has happened to the pretty boys of Domino City? Is there _any _one of them left that _isn't_ making lemonade with another boy?!" When asked to elaborate on the peculiar turn of words, she explained shortly, "Suzaki-sensei caught two boys at lunch _holding hands_. And then, after school when my boyfriend was supposed to meet me to walk me home, I saw _him_ kissing some blond guy!"

These are not the first reports connected to this touchy subject. From as far away as Tokyo, testimonies of boys abandoning the gentler sex in favor of their male counterparts has increased drastically over the past week. Last Friday, Kinomoto Sakura, 11, a student at Tomoeda Elementary School, commented with a friendly smile, "It's a little strange, I guess, how suddenly it happened, but as long as they're happy, why make such a fuss about it?" Then, winking, she whispered conspiratorially, "Even before all this, my brother fell in love with his best friend and their relationship is the only thing that makes him act normal."

Though Kinomoto Sakura's mellow reaction to the sudden change is admirable, more parents and students seem to lean toward the negative with Makitstop Mary Sue. "Had I known the kinds of 'activities' my son was involved in after school, I would never have endorsed his participation," said the angry mother of Jounouchi Katsuya, 17, a student at Domino City High School. She added that, "He lives with his father and his exploits are hardly supervised. For all I know, that stupid card game he's always wrapped up in turned him gay." At the ridiculous concept, she laughed incredulously and massaged her temples with finely shaking hands. She is only one of the many parents troubled over her son's behavior.

According to numerous parents, the majority of the boys reported as acting "unsuitably" were raised in respectable homes with loving parents and in some cases loving siblings. Many of the boys in question seem to be avoiding public scrutiny and were unavailable for comment. Whatever the cause of this sudden turn from the beaten path of heterosexuality, by their silence it seems the boys of Domino have no qualms with their new style of romance. ---Yofuke Takasugi

****

--It Begins: Not Yesterday--

Three Weeks Prior…

Had the situation continued on the way it began, Malik might have weaved a new dream for himself in Egypt and Jounouchi might have lived on forever torn between loving to hate Kaiba and hating to feel fond of Mai. Thankfully, to everyone's relief, that outcome never came to pass, rerouted before the terrible weed of heterosexual ennui sprouted.

If anyone was to hunt far enough, he or she would discover the source of the Great Change in one Bakura Ryou. A quiet, thoughtful boy on the surface, Bakura masked most of himself behind depthless fawn's eyes and a timelessly childlike face. To all outsiders, the river of his psyche ran still and shallow. However, after noticing that the boy was less than behaviorally diluted, it was easier then to accept the validity of the gargantuan swell of fervent emotion that Bakura protected behind his expressionlessly pouting lips. Though this wave of feeling would not be revealed as love for several years yet, the fact is that it existed and its influence drove Bakura to acts that his more rational self would have denied ethical.

His recent problem thrived behind the dusky lavender irises of one Malik Ishtar, the melting candle whose flame knelt low, wearily and without emotion, so dangerously close to the root of its wick. Despite every sin and ruthless endeavor Malik executed during his time in Japan, Bakura found he understood the underlying callousness coaching him more than he would have been proud to admit. Because of that awareness, Bakura never forgave Malik. On the contrary, he felt he never had to, for he had never added the burden of another's blame on Malik's soul in the first place. He knew Malik's state of mind well enough by his own experience to know that whatever harsh act was carried out, the upsurge of pain that followed was punishment enough. But like a wild animal, whenever pain or that helplessness of knowing he had done too much to withdraw struck, Malik's thrashing and stubborn belligerence instinctively increased. Violence and hate flourishing by guilt.

It was not until Malik returned to Egypt and Bakura had ample time alone to reflect on the finals that he realized his sympathy for the older duelist was not sympathy at all, but rather a strong torrent of commiseration, one sufferer knowing another's pain. He knew better by the time Malik had bowed out of his life than to trust anything gilded, batty (in both the descriptive and literal form) or jaw-droppingly gorgeous ever again. And shortly after that oath, he belatedly wondered if his continuous, in-depth character studies on Malik might in fact evidence a crush on the prematurely sexy Egyptian.

Strangely enough, he wasn't surprised with the notion.

He was, however, when Malik returned to Domino City a year later four weeks prior to Bakura's eighteenth birthday. Considering Malik's sister quietly accompanied him, Bakura suspected that Malik's visit to the island was not entirely his volition. Even after spotting Bakura once in Kaiba Land, he simply blinked and turned away nonchalantly as if they had never met - as if he had never put the younger boy in potentially soul-pureeing, mentally damaging danger. Fortunately, the snub and all behind it was noticed without hurt and over the next twelve hours suffered scrutiny, hypothesizing and translation into Bakuranese.

In short, after the sighting at Kaiba Land, Bakura couldn't shove Malik's beautiful face from his dreams, daydreams or even from the backs of his eyelids when he blinked. By the time two weeks fell victim to the mark of a pen, Bakura had surrendered warily to the idea of sheltering a rather glaring crush on the former Item holder. With that inner confession, Bakura shamelessly indulged in the visions of Malik behind his eyelids, smiling pensively during class and worrying his schoolmates unfortunate enough to sit near him. For a time, these slideshows were enough to satisfy Bakura's craving for the blond - for about two days. After that, things began to get slippery.

Unchecked by curfew set by a perpetually absent guardian, Bakura wandered to a nearby park late one evening, absently rubbing the leather strap around his neck. In the chill summer breath, his Sennen Ring cooled and pressed restively into his chest, seeking warmth. Bakura barely acknowledged the object with an absent sweep of his hand, his fingertips skimming the outline underneath his shirt. His intention tonight was to continue the star-charting he had impulsively begun on a capricious impulse two nights past. But upon reaching the tranquil playground and glimpsing a thatch of platinum hair, his plans promptly melted into incoherent slush.

Malik chose to stand that night alone by the swings, his profile strikingly elegant in a dusty ray of moonlight. Loosely clutching a swing's chain stream in one hand, he stared emotionlessly at a darkened patch of space, reflective. For a short while, Bakura was content to watch, his sketchpad stationary between loose palms. Silently he climbed to the crown of the nearby jungle gym, observing Malik sinking passively into a depthless lake of thought. Once seated atop the gym, Bakura felt his own face loosening from its usual mask of apathy to something almost tender. Something about the way Malik's eyes had softened over the past year drew a slight smile on Bakura's lips. Sadness lingered in the exotic, contoured eyes, but for the most part, had dampened to a mere trickle of regret, an emotion Bakura was more than familiar with himself.

A sudden surge of wind gathered Bakura's hair into the deluge, gently persuading the soft locks of white to sway wildly in the breeze without inhibitions. Paying no mind to his tresses' antics, Bakura found himself captivated instead by the tiny smile that lifted the corner of Malik's mouth in response to the wind's playfulness. The fond amusement clearly dabbed across the former miscreant's face entranced Bakura, whose hand then lifted without its owner's command and moved his untamed hair to see better.

At another, stronger wind jet, however, Bakura's body listed precariously and before he could search out either footing or a bar to seize, he plunged through a square in the jungle gym. His cry of shock shattered in unison with his landing, his breath robbed by pain smashing stiletto heels into his chest. Slowly, the trauma diminished his heightened senses and brought blessed breath back to Bakura's lungs. First mentally checking for broken bones and only finding his ego ruthlessly bruised, Bakura groaned and nuzzled his face into the grass. Any minute now….

"Omote no Bakura?"

Bingo.

Wait. Omote? Who was _he_ calling a front?! For who? The deranged lunatic living in _his_ Sennen Ring? …Right, because Malik had never spoken to anyone else in this body, now had he?

Closing off his damaged ego's piqued rambling, Bakura stifled another groan and shakily lifted his aching body to his knees. Suddenly uncomfortably aware of Malik's close proximity and the unreadable tone in his voice, Bakura set about concerning himself with the vague throb in his chest.

"Gomen," said Malik, apparently noticing Bakura's discontent at the undesired classification, "you…eh." A sigh. "Daijoubo desu ka?"

An apology from Malik? Bakura shadowed a thrilled smile with his sleeve, rubbing at his dirt-smeared mouth quickly. "Hai, I'm fine, Malik-san," he answered, turning a calmer, more appreciative smile sideways at the older boy…

…And felt his breath glue to his throat.

The former malefactor of Battle City stood against the outline of the jungle gym, dressed in a sable, oriental-styled shirt that clung to his lean frame like a mist of ocean water. As was his custom, his jutted hip supported most of his weight while gold jeweled arms hugged his torso casually, a pose that Bakura mildly noted was less than macho masculine. Abruptly aware of his floating gaze, Bakura twisted his eyes up to converge with the amused, cloudy irises. Ironically, the mere feel of Malik's gaze caged Bakura more efficiently than the real set of bars currently fencing him in.

Almost as if he sensed this, Malik smiled faintly, an expression barely there but noticeable to someone like Bakura who spent the majority of his time observing the world between the lines. "I've heard stories of your looks, Bakura, but not many of your grace," the Egyptian said, tilting his head in a way that made sexily adorable instantly in style.

Bakura returned the ambiguous smile and said softly, "I wouldn't imagine so."

It wasn't funny, nor was it intended to be, but it made a prominent, genuine smile form slowly on Malik's pretty lips. "What exactly made you want to climb a jungle gym in the middle of the night, anyway, Bakura?"

It wasn't his fault, really, that Bakura took note of the different ways Malik said his name and what each time sounded like. He wondered distractedly how his given name would tumble from the smooth, Egyptian tongue. With a twitch, Bakura banished the sidetracking thought and said honestly, "I wasn't climbing. I was already at the top when I fell."

This time it was funny, but Bakura hadn't meant it to be. So, when Malik chuckled, Bakura started and took a moment to recollect his bearings. He wasn't used to this part of socializing - or socializing period. But the laughter-induced smile that lingered on Malik's lips encouraged him and made the following conversation anything save awkward.

For one night memories of Battle City, revenge plots and Sennen Items were discarded in favor of the new relaxed harmony that had settled between the two boys. The real treat came when Malik unpredictably took hold of Bakura's forearms as the smaller duelist struggled through a rectangle in the gym, eager to escape the feeling of entrapment that had settled in his throat. Freezing at the first contact of Malik's palms on his bare shoulders, Bakura knew he had a problem. Averting his gaze from Malik's strangely impassive and almost naïve expression, he shakily stumbled through the bars. Once flat on his feet and clutching the sketchpad to his chest to somehow stifle the drumbeat of his feral heart, Bakura pulled the three inches between them to six and said a cheerful, "Arigatou gozaimasu, Malik-san". And before he could prevent it, he felt his goofy, deeply loathed smile tickling his lips. Realizing this with more than a touch of mortification, Bakura squelched the idiotic expression and reverted to his more characteristic politesse. Schoolboy crushes were nearly as giddy-inducing as schoolgirl crushes, he noted wryly.

Malik inclined his head curiously for a few moments, then shook his head in what looked to be awe. "How do you do it?" he asked finally, looking intently at the younger duelist.

Bakura had an idea of what he meant, but frowned questioningly just the same, faintly hating the wrinkle of his small nose. "Adorable" was not an adjective he liked used in comparison to himself - however true it was.

"How do you stay so…young?" elaborated Malik, self-conscious. A darkness had tugged his slender eyebrows into a frown, collective memories sketching a wince at the corner of his mouth. "Despite that nightmare last year, you still look at it as that, don't you? Something terrible you can just wake up from and forget."

Eyes soft with compassion, Bakura asked, "What _did_ you expect from me, Malik-san?"

"Bitterness," Malik said without hesitance. Then, after a mildly sheepish pause, he elaborated, "From what I've gathered from local gossip, you haven't exactly had an easy time since you moved here."

Bakura blinked, without an answer.

Malik smiled, seeming to understand and said lightly, "So, it's true that your father is an archaeologist?"

Bakura nodded and by reflex smothered a returned smile.

"So, I assume by your late night expedition he's not home?"

More slowly, Bakura shook his head. Then, feeling the need to defend his father, said quickly, "It's not his fault…. He has to work." His tone sounded minutely pleading and it startled Bakura to hear it in his voice.

Malik merely smiled sadly and gazed over Bakura's head at the stars, or maybe at the blackness he had busied his scrutiny with before. "It must be nice when he's home," he said, resting the hand that wasn't grasping one of the gym's bars on his hip.

Too distracted by the moonbeams playing on the toned abdomen to censor himself, Bakura said absently, "Yes, but that doesn't happen very often."

Too late, Bakura's eyes widened fractionally and flitted up in time to catch Malik's eyes turn sideways at him. The young Egyptian smiled. "I didn't think so." Having the decency not to acknowledge the fleeting look of surprise that passed across Bakura's face, Malik said, "My sister is probably waiting for me to return home." He released the gym's bar and faced Bakura with an arcane mask concealing his thoughts.

Disappointment expanded in his chest as Bakura nodded and forced out a quiet, "You'd better go, then, before she worries."

Malik laughed without reserve, wrapping an arm loosely round his own willowy waist. "She's been worried about me since I was born, Bakura," he said, chuckling. "A few hours past a curfew I already ignore won't grey her hair too noticeably."

Despite the circumstances tying vital organs of his into knots, Bakura managed a slight smile. "Why _are _you out so late, Malik-san?" he asked.

With those bold words, the lightness in Malik's eyes dimmed, laden with nostalgia. Seeming bothered by Bakura's curiosity, he frowned and broodingly studied the interwoven bars that made up the jungle gym. Just as Bakura opened his mouth to withdraw the question and apologize for his rudeness, Malik said, "I saw you here last night. I assumed you would return to finish your…drawing." Then, in an odd voice, "We never truly spoke after the finals - "

Certain he didn't like the direction the conversation had turned in, Bakura cut in hastily, "Malik-san…."

Malik pinned the younger boy with his intense stare, still annoyed but, Bakura realized, at another source. "I've thought about you a lot since I left," he said quietly, his frown melting vaguely.

Bakura's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "H-honto?"

Malik nodded solemnly. "I…I don't…." The frown returned, goaded by his frustration at the stubborn words lodged in his throat. Suddenly he scowled darkly and clenched his fists by his sides. "I hate what I am," he hissed at the grass, shocking Bakura. "More than that, I despise what I did to you. I didn't care if Yuugi forgave me. I knew everything I had done he would heal quickly from. But you…. I…." He raised his eyes haltingly to Bakura's, the anger dissipating under the weight of doubt. "I think…that maybe I've scarred you, Bakura. And I…don't…want that…for you."

In the dust of his outburst, Malik curtly turned his face and shielded his grimace with the layered strands of his soft, blond hair. Clearly embarrassed by the force behind his words, Malik sheepishly uncurled his fists and hugged his exposed abdomen slackly.

After some time, digesting the blazing words at his own pace, Bakura blinked and lifted his hand to Malik's shoulder. At the gentle touch, Malik shuddered, darkened shadow shying away from the glimmer of purifying white grey.

"Malik-san," Bakura said softly, "have you not punished yourself enough over the past?" His eyes shimmered, molten chocolate searching out lilac as a breath of wind tousled Malik's hair.

Malik snorted faintly, his shoulder rolling under Bakura's hand as he shrugged. "It's only what I deserve, ne?"

"Iie. Not you."

Malik sighed and looked finally on the stubborn set of Bakura's face with determination lining his eyes. Instead of arguing his case, however, as his mouth opened, he suddenly pressed his lips together and smiled. "I wish I could have your spirit, Bakura," he said, wistful.

A slight tic of Bakura's lips gave his amusement away as his hand fell away to his side. "You're welcome to him," he said wryly.

Almost blithely, Malik grinned. "No, arigatou. I endured more than a lifetime's worth of his company in five minutes…." His eyes trailed almost hesitantly to Bakura's bare arm where only the white shadow of a scar remained.

"Will it ever go away entirely?" The haunted look in Malik's eyes was practically heartrending.

Glancing at the limb in question, Bakura spoke softly, "Iie. Too deep."

Malik's face crumpled with a flurry of emotion; leading them all, a crushing disappointment. "Then you'll carry memories of...then…for the rest of your life."

"Aa."

Malik winced. "Bakura…."

"I was scarred," the younger duelist interrupted, raising a muting hand, "but it had nothing to do with you."

Clearly confused, Malik questioned, "How could you know? I thought you didn't remember anything under the spirit's influence?"

Jadedly Bakura smiled. "I don't, but once a year with this - " he yanked the concealed Ring from beneath his shirt and brandished the Item with mild dislike " - and realizing I could only remember roughly half of my sixteenth year…. Well…I got curious as to what I missed out on." Without waiting for Malik's reaction, he dipped the Ring into his shirt and smoothed out the zephyr-like material over the outline. "Mou hitori no boku isn't the only one in this body capable of invading memories," he said, smiling somewhat sadly.

"Why do you keep it?"

Bakura lifted his chin curiously. "Nani?"

Malik's eyes remained fixed on Bakura's chest, suspicious. "If it causes you so much pain, why keep it? Why not offer it to Yuugi?"

After a moment of silence, Bakura sighed and halfheartedly massaged his knotted neck. Finally he met Malik's gaze and smiled softly. "What do you think it was like for mou hitori no Yuugi-kun as pharaoh?"

Surprised and a bit wary at the odd question, Malik said slowly, "Total power…managing your own destiny instead of having it dictated to you." His eyes fogged and cleared in the span of seconds, curiosity then reining control of his expression. "What does that have to do with the Ring?"

Bakura folded his hands over the bars of the gym, settling the small of his back on a smooth bar. Gazing into the sky pensively, he said, "It's like what you said, in a way. Controlling my destiny. Except that it's more a matter of…belonging…to me. Yuugi-kun and mou hitori no Yuugi-kun will need the Sennen Ring eventually and when that time comes, I will give the Ring to Yuugi-kun." He regarded Malik's carefully blank face with a rare show of openness. "But until then, I want to be a part in this, Malik-san. Once Yuugi-kun has the Ring, what will they care what becomes of me? What friends will I have left, then?" _I've forgotten how to make them_. But he didn't speak it aloud.

Still uncertain, Malik hedged, "But the ancient spirit…."

"Protects me," said Bakura. He chuckled at Malik's stunned noise of protest. "I don't know why, but he does. To sustain my body or perhaps he cares a fraction for me." Bakura shrugged and traced the rope's descent from his neck to the circle of his collar.

"I just want to mean something to someone."

Malik joined the younger boy in his study of the stars, nodding absently. "I can appreciate that," he said quietly. Softer, "Aa, I can."

Bakura smiled askance at the Egyptian. "Arigatou, Malik-san."

"For what?" Malik turned to face Bakura entirely.

The white-locked duelist bowed his head, the shade of his hair shadowing his flushed smile. _For more than you know_. "For breaking your curfew to speak with me."

Malik chuckled. "Not very responsible of me, ne?"

Bakura tipped his head back and laughed gently, content to soak in the moonlight and feel the sheen of the beams illuminate his skin. Unaware of just how beautiful he appeared in that moment, he shut his eyes in the comfort of time offered, relaxed. He barely noticed when Malik brushed his arm, a mere thread of a touch. It took a more insistent contact to rouse him, Malik's palm splayed on his upper arm.

"Bakura?"

"Hai?" Bakura lifted his eyelashes in time to see the fringes of a smile quickly dashed from Malik's face. He smiled gently. "Nani, Malik-san?"

The Egyptian let his eyes and hand lie determinedly on Bakura, resolute against the apparent urge to maintain his distance. "You're not in as desperate a position as you lead yourself to believe," he said.

Bakura began to wilt under the intense gaze, wondering which his mystification developed from; either the blend of soft Egyptian fingertips lightly brushing his shoulder or the balmy texture of subtle, lilac eyes. A sudden thrill of Malik's thumb absently sweeping the arc of Bakura's shoulder silenced all such considerations.

Heedless, Malik continued, "I think…that Battle City taught me a number of crucial lessons…." His smile was peaceful. "Not one of them means shit to me right now."

Taken aback maybe by the vulgarity of the comment or perhaps by the unexpectedness, Bakura laughed. Free from inhibitions, his senses escaped their dark hold and delivered to his brain the warmth of Malik's hand, the sincerity of his smile and the caramel silkiness, the absolute _rightness_ of their joined laughter.

Eventually, Malik's laughter ebbed from audibility, but the smile lingered as he watched Bakura's face light up in untroubled bliss. It seemed that the chasm in Bakura had begun to diminish with the unexpected fill of Malik's attention, banishing reticence and introversion in favor of lightheartedness. He didn't realize it when his stomach ached in protest to the desperate mirth and Malik didn't alert him to it when he leaned his forehead on the Egyptian's slender shoulder and continued to giggle, feverishly.

And surprisingly enough, Bakura didn't mind the close proximity or stammer an apology and vanish in humiliation for his lost control. In fact, he found it rather difficult to do either of these things feeling the soft warmth of Malik's arm tentatively curled around his waist.

…To be Continued

A/N: I'm of the opinion that Bakura isn't a sissy, Malik isn't demonic and the dub bites. ^_~ Review or I'll point my dreaded finger at you, because "fingers are _so_ much more imposing than guns," booms the Almighty 4Kids.


End file.
